October: Creative Platypus

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October

October is
The return of the world
To the way it should be.
Days grow short
-even this far south.
Slate grey skies
Agree
With a head held together
By Cymbalta
And too much tobacco.

The Sibyl of Cumae
Writes her books on
Autumn leaves,
Carving strange signs
In outlawed pumpkins.

The Sphinx stands in my way,
Corpses beneath her feet
Glow strangely
In the fading light.
There are things in that smile
That only heroes know,
But I am no Oedipus,
And there are questions
Not worth answering.
(Though one is free to ask.)

Hippias stood upon the
Shores of Athens
Coughing out pieces of his
Head.
Is there a coffin in Egypt
For my tooth?

The Sphinx smiles on.
I turn away.

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